


homecoming

by themorninglark



Series: rareprompts [4]
Category: Free!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Historical, M/M, i tagged it major character death just in case but IT'S NOT THAT BAD, i think???, telepathy au, there will probably be some pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-09
Packaged: 2018-04-08 11:22:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4302903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/themorninglark/pseuds/themorninglark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Haruka had been born in a quiet, sleepy summer; Makoto, after an earthquake, in a house with a cracked wall.</p><p>(in which Haruka and Makoto have never met, but they're always just a thought away.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	homecoming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [crownedcrusader](https://archiveofourown.org/users/crownedcrusader/gifts).



> For crownedcrusader, who tempted me with an AU prompt where Haru and Makoto have never met, but have actual telepathy. Not _quite_ a rarepair, but the prompt was interesting enough for me to want to try!
> 
> It was supposed to be a drabble. I honestly apologise for... this... (waves vaguely)

_"I wonder what the weather in Tokyo will be like? Should we pack warm clothing?"_

_"I'll check NHK's weather report before we leave."_

_"…Makoto says it's nice in March."_

_"Haruka, dear, shh…"_

 

* * *

 

Haruka had been born in a quiet, sleepy summer; Makoto, after an earthquake, in a house with a cracked wall.

Four years later, Makoto would experience the tremors of another earthquake, this one with its epicentre far away in Kyoto, and Haruka would freeze, midair, on a swing in the playground, his fingers would tremble, grip the chains so tight that the metal links wore grooves into his palms.

 _makoto, makoto,_ was all he would think in that moment, as his mind filled up with silent cries, _haru-chan_ sounding faintly in the distance.

 

* * *

 

_I think I'm sick, Haru-chan… I'm not good with winter._

_i like winter.  
_ _except that i can't swim in the sea, when it's cold._

_Do you live near the sea, Haru-chan?_

_yeah._

_Wow, that's amazing! I've never seen the sea!_

_never seen the sea…?_

_Mmm. It must be beautiful… since you love it so much, Haru-chan._

_it's ok.  
go to sleep. you should rest._

 

* * *

 

In art class, Haruka dips his paintbrush in a palette of emerald green.

He sets brush to canvas, closes his eyes so he can see better. He is small, still; he has to get off the stool and tiptoe to reach the top.

The camphor tree is vivid in his mind, bushy and green. If he stretches his mind far enough, if he reaches out to Tokyo, thinks of Makoto's voice, he can smell the leaves, hear the _snap_ of the twigs as the wheels run over them.

Today, Makoto had learned to ride a bicycle. He had told Haruka all about it. It was exciting, he said, and scary. The legs of his pants are baggy and keep catching on the pedals. Old-fashioned clothing sounds awfully annoying.

Haruka is not sure what it's like to be scared himself, but he knows Makoto's fear. He has heard it at night, when the last candle in Makoto's room has blown out and he can't sleep; he has tried his best to share the light of the moon through his window, to cradle that fear in his little arms for both of them.

He paints Makoto's smile, delighted, as he leans forward and rides into a sunbeam. The light grazes his cheek gently.

 

* * *

 

_Haru… do you think it's bad? That I'm scared of so many things?_

_no  
_ _why is it bad_

_Because - because I'm supposed to protect my family. I'm supposed to protect Ran and Ren._

_you can do it even if you're scared._

_How do you know, Haru?_

_because it's you, makoto._

 

_I'm scared... they say… they say we are going to war. With China._

 

_Haru?_

_Haru, are you there?_

 

* * *

 

Haruka learns to keep his thoughts to himself.

It's not his parents' fault, or his teachers', that they don't understand; how could they, after all, when they've never had someone like Makoto? It must be lonely for them.

Haruka is alone a lot, but he is never lonely.

He doesn't speak of Makoto any more, not out loud. And in time to come, he learns, too, to keep his most secret thoughts from the boy who's always in his mind.

One day, Haruka plucks up the courage to go to his school's computer lab after class. He opens up a browser, and types, with fingers that shake a little, _Tachibana Makoto_.

_Your search returned no results._

He doesn't know whether to feel relief, or dread.

 

* * *

 

On New Year's Eve, Haruka claps his hands at a shrine, bows, and sends up a prayer.

Makoto, miles away, does the same.

 _I pray for peace,_ thinks Makoto.

 _I pray for Makoto,_ thinks Haruka.

The bell tolls from atop the mountain. As it strikes for the 108th time, and goes silent, Haruka feels Makoto in his mind, breathing quietly.

He doesn't say anything. Neither does Haruka.

By the flickering light of the temple lanterns, Haruka shivers. He buys a hot drink from a roadside stall, and wraps his hands round it, blowing on its surface. Little ripples fan out across the steaming liquid.

_are you ok?_

_Hmm?_

_you're bad with the cold.  
_ _don't get sick. go home._

Gentle laughter. _You remembered. Thanks, Haru._

 

* * *

 

Haruka remembers everything about Makoto, _his_ Makoto.

He remembers the way his voice changed, as they grew up. He remembers how he sounded as a child, soft, like the wind rustling through grass; he remembers how, when his goldfish died, he didn't cry, not in front of his parents and the twins - because he is strong -

Only to Haruka, and only because Haruka can't see him. And they don't talk about it.

They don't talk about how sweet Makoto's voice sounds when he says Haruka's name, _Haru, Haru,_ with the hint of a laugh round the edges, and they don't talk about the brushing of their minds, the way it feels like their fingertips are touching, sometimes.

_Tell me again, Haru._

_about what?_

_About what it's like in the future. Tell me about your shopping mall, and high school, and swimming club. Tell me about cinemas._

Haruka wants to say to Makoto, _you'll get to see it all. you'll grow up, and Japan will grow up with you._

But Haruka does not know how to lie, and he does not know, either way, if the words are true; he does not want to know, he does not want to think about it.

 _school's just school.  
we're learning english now. i'm terrible at it._  

_English! I would be terrible too.  
How's the weather?_

_still chilly. you'd hate it._

 

* * *

 

When they are eighteen, Makoto sees the ocean for the first time in his life, from the prow of a battleship.

 _It's so big,_ he whispers in Haruka's mind. Awed, and a little fearful.

Haruka does not make him promise anything. He goes to the pier, stands on the edge and stares out at the horizon. The water laps invitingly at the shore.

 _Please keep him safe,_ thinks Haruka.

 

* * *

 

_Haru - !_

 

* * *

 

Haruka sits bolt upright in bed.

He is covered in cold sweat, and there's a searing, burning pain in his head.

 

* * *

  

 _makoto?  
_ _makoto -_

 

* * *

  

A wrench, a cry, and -

 

silence.

 

* * *

 

_Your search returned no results._

 

So this is why there is nothing of Makoto, in his time.

 

* * *

 

Haruka curls up in his bathtub, hugs his knees to his chest and dunks his head underwater. He is empty, like a vessel, he is hushed, and he is lonely, for the first time in his life. It is deafening, it is unbearable - how do people live like this? How, without their soulmate just a thought away?

He listens, strains his ears; perhaps, here in the water, he can hear something of Makoto, perhaps they will find a way to each other -

It is dark, so many thousand feet below the sea. He wonders if Makoto was scared when his ship went down.

He remembers -

_Haru -_

He remembers.

And he knows, with a fierce, solemn pride, that in that moment - yes, there was fear, all the fear of Makoto's that he's grown to know so well, all the fear he always tried to protect him from - the fear that, in the end, he had to face anyway, because they grew up, they both did -

But more than fear, there was love.

 

* * *

 

In his last year of university, Haruka returns to Tokyo, for the first time since his childhood holiday with his parents. Makoto had been right. The weather in Tokyo is nice in March.

Tachibana Ran is in her eighties. She is asleep when Haruka visits their family home, and when her grandson looks at Haruka with emerald green eyes, and asks, politely, if he'd like to come in for a cup of tea, Haruka shakes his head. It's fine, he says; Ran probably doesn't remember him.

They have patched up the crack in the wall, but the old familiar tree still stands outside, twigs lying on the pavement. The scent of camphor fills the air.

Quietly, Haruka leaves a painting on the doorstep, and walks away.

The smile of the boy on the bicycle has faded over time. But it's still warm, and filled with hope.

 

* * *

 

Two things spring eternal, in the heart of Nanase Haruka -

The first is a memory, his first conscious one. It is a memory of touch, of lips landing, tenderly, on a forehead. It is Makoto's first memory, and Haruka carries it deep within him.

The second is faith.

Some days, he is surprised, himself, by the second thing; he feels his knees creak as he sits down at the top of the stone steps to watch the sunset, and he thinks that it is futile, that he is getting on in years and Makoto had died before he was even born, that he was lucky, so lucky, to even get to spend eighteen years sharing his life somehow -

But still, every New Year's Eve, he prays.

 

_I pray for Makoto._

 

He bows. Straightens, with difficulty. His back hurts.

Slowly, he makes his way back down the mountain. Just as he's thanking the gods that the chill is less biting this year, a breeze blows in from the sea, whipping past his cheek.

_Cold…_

And then -

He feels it. He hears it, whispering in the back of his mind, like an insistent knock.

_makoto?_

A rustle of green, a gentle touch - nothing more - the soft cry of a baby, far away -

_makoto?_

Haruka catches himself, and thinks, _no_ , not words, for they are more than words, and this is what they are, this is what they've always been, Haruka and Makoto.

He breathes, hugs his coat tighter and closes his eyes again, the better to see with.

Makoto is there.

It is a new life, but it is Makoto, _his_ Makoto, reborn, somewhere out there in the world, and after so many years of silence, Haruka finally lets himself sink to his knees and choke out silent sobs.

He weeps for a death that he has relived in his dreams too many times, he weeps, quietly, for faith, and he weeps to hear Makoto in his mind, calling out to him in their language. The language they shared, long ago, before they learned to speak, the language of their souls, connected once again.

 

_okaeri._

 

**Author's Note:**

> (Minor historical note: Makoto, in this AU, is born in 1923 just after the Great Kanto Earthquake of September 1, and grows up into the WWII era.)


End file.
